


untitled

by godcheekbones



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-18 17:37:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15491139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godcheekbones/pseuds/godcheekbones
Summary: Lance shrugs. "Let me tell you, mini-Pidge, at this point pretty much nothing surprises us anymore. Let's get you checked out first. Ten years into the future might have played a number on you."





	1. Chapter 1

"My name is Matt," says the man near the front. He is leaning forwards, one hand on his knee and the other stretched out towards Pidge, palm facing out. He is not anything that Pidge remembers clearly; his glasses are gone and he now favours a simple brown tee over psychedelic colour schemes. Then Pidge realises with a jolt that the man resembles more the photographs in old albums, of their father in particular; the gentle smile and laugh lines around eyes that see right through Pidge. 

Before Pidge knows, she is throwing herself onto Matt, knocking the both of them onto the ground. 

Nobody moves for a moment except Pidge to tighten her grip on a fistful of Matt's shirt. 

"Is it just me or is anybody getting deja vu?" Hunk asks the room at large. 

Matt puts an arm around Pidge's shaking back and looks at the other two in panic. 

"Where is _our_ Katie?" he mouths. 

Lance gets it, a millisecond before Hunk gasps aloud. "You mean that gremlin actually-"

Pidge mumbles something into Matt's shoulder. 

Hunk squats next to the pair so that he is on eye level with Pidge as he says gently, "Do you want to repeat that?"

Pidge very reluctantly pulls away. "There appears to be a miscalculation in my algorithm," she comes clean. 

"Definitely Pidge," Lance declares with a nod. 

"I seem to have either travelled to the future or an alternate dimension as I was replicating the wormhole without the princess." Pidge pauses, and adds without much aplomb, "How old are you? Where - perhaps, _when_ \- I come from, we formed Voltron for the first time about a year ago."

The other three in the room exchange careful glances. Matt looks stricken, and Hunk settles into a thoughtful expression. 

Lance shrugs. "Let me tell you, mini-Pidge, at this point pretty much nothing surprises us anymore. Let's get you checked out first. Ten years into the future might have played a number on you."


	2. Chapter 2

"So I found this in Pidge's room," Hunk reports, his nose buried in a very long piece of yellowed paper that is barely held together by sellotape. "It instructs for one glass of warm milk with a shot of Baileys every night."

"Good work," Matt approves, hoisting himself from under the bed. He wriggles back, hands first this time, and drags out a heavy suitcase. "Katie is lactose-intolerant. There must be a message in there."

Hunk pauses in his speed reading. "Sounds like you need some help, buddy."

Matt huffs indignantly, "Then what's the point in Shiro making me do weights?" 

"Uh huh." Throwing Matt an unimpressed look, Hunk easily hauls the suitcase into the trolley, where assorted gadgets, equipment and laptops already make a pile. It may be a futile effort to protect future technology from Pidge, but the least they can do is to make her work for it. 

"Well- uh, thanks. Moving on. Does the note say anything useful? Like where Katie is?"

"Not yet, unless a recipe for eggnog turns out to be coordinates." Distracted, Hunk sits on Pidge's mattress so that it dips in the middle. A small hardcover book under the corner of the mattress catches Matt's gaze. 

Matt reaches out and flicks through the worn pages. Several of them are dog-eared. Upon closer inspection, Matt makes out faint pencil marks crossing out page numbers and replacing them with Altean characters. Realisation hits him like a freight train. 

"A cipher," Matt bursts out, close to awe, "Hunk, you genius!"

"People can mention that more regularly, but at this moment- remind me again, how I'm a genius?"

"The _numbers_ in the recipes, Hunk! Read out all the numbers!"

 


	3. Chapter 3

Pidge is good at compartmentalising information. She watches as Lance applies clinical gel on several pads the size of a thumbnail before sticking it on various parts of exposed skin. Lance moves without wasting a single action - quick, efficient and confident. 

Time to test the waters, Pidge thinks idly. 

"I don't remember this part of the castle," she says. 

Lance's back is towards her. His shoulders tense into a taut line, but his voice is bright. "Yeah, well. Castle's pretty big, y'know? We needed a med bay when the healing pods went down. Actually, come to think of it, you made most of the equipment here."

"When did the healing pods go down?"

Lance sticks a finger in the air, wagging it. " _Nuh-uh_ , not going there."

He taps onto the hologram keyboard,  _hmm-_ ing and  _uhh_ -ing his way through a solid five minutes. 

 

When he turns back around, Pidge has various parts of what used to be a medical cube laid out on the gurney. "Pidge! How did you- no, not going to ask. Put that back!"

"It's a first-aid kit modelled after a Rubik's cube," Pidge talks over him, impressed. She sifts through the insulation layer, gel packs, bandages, and picks out several collapsible pens. "Is this an EpiPen? Why are all the characters in Altean? Are we fluent in Altean in the future?"

Pidge sees the moment Lance decides,  _Fuck it_. He lets go of his feelings in a long exhale.

With nimble fingers, he makes quick work of removing the pads. "Way back, we had to sneak medical supplies to a couple of prisoners. It's simple, lightweight and the Galra doesn't take it away because it doesn't look dangerous. The pens are colour-coded - painkillers are green, adrenaline is yellow and euthanasia agents are red."

Pidge drops them. 

Lance glances at her, and clears his throat. "Altean is not that uncommon in space, for a language that's been dead for more than ten thousand years. More common than English, anyway. So we rolled with it. You're pretty near fluent now, the rest of us are decent. Any more questions?"

"One more," Pidge says, "and no lying."

A shrug. "No promises."

"Fair enough. We're not in the Castle of Lions. We're in the Garrison. On Earth. True or false?"

 


End file.
